


Walk a Mile in the Devil's Shoes

by kaiz



Category: Brimstone
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-03-22
Updated: 2002-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:11:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiz/pseuds/kaiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why sex with the Devil is a bad idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Walk a Mile in the Devil's Shoes

"Lovely work, Ezekiel," he said. Pacing in the shadows, he was close enough that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck. "Your swan dive, I mean, of course. Seeing that Ash managed to slip through your grasp yet again."

The trash-strewn alley was dimly lit and slippery underfoot. I reeked from the garbage smeared on my torn clothing and still ached from the five-story drop that prematurely ended tonight's chase. Every now and then a bone or joint would shift back into place with a grating *pop*. God I *hate* that feeling.

"I'm not in the mood," I said. And I wasn't.

Even though I'm dead, the adrenaline high, the crackle and snap of reassembling tissues, my recent near-Hell experience courtesy of Ashur Badaktur made me twitchy, violent. And aroused. His taunts, the heat of his ungodly body where it hovered near mine, the burn of the runes scrawled on my body, were erotic, dangerous.

"Hah!" He crowed, stepping even closer and wrapping one strong yet slender arm around my waist. "Given your recent failures, I'm beginning to think that you're *never* in the mood, my good Detective."

Something flashed across my vision then, red and gold. In an instant, I pinned him against the pitted brick wall and pressed close. He gasped.

"Wrong again." My voice was harsh, raspy. "I'm in the mood right now."

Cloth parted under my hands and I bent my lips to his. No tenderness, just fury and passion. We'd been heading this way for how long? Since the beginning at least, since I awakened in this body signed in blood by his hand.

I would have forced my tongue into his mouth except that he yielded suddenly, opening to my insistent lust. His hands were on me then, tearing my clothing, igniting my skin -- and I burned. Through the red haze I could feel the hardness of *something* -- his cock? -- against my stomach, and could hear his voice and mine raised in a chorus of desperation.

I thought I heard him say, "Ezekiel! Stop! We can't!" But we were both long past that boundary.

And suddenly, it was if my skin were seared away. I was raw, open to the elements, without breath or lungs to breathe, streaming away into chaos, into a raw, aching longing so far beyond my grief for Rosalynd that it was as a candle flame compared to the sun.

###

"Ezekiel."

I awakened to his voice -- but it was *my* voice -- filled with a sorrow that seemed to encompass the world.

I lay on my back on the slick, rank pavement staring up into -- my own face? And yet I was also the wet pavement, the roach scuttling past my head, the pedestrians rushing by in the street beyond. Everything and nothing. I clapped my hands to my ears but the noise wouldn't stop.

When I sat up and stretched, I felt somehow more, greater. But the grief -- ah, the ice of winter --immediately flattened me to my back again.

"I'm sorry," he said, then gently stroked the arch of my wingtip.

Wingtip?

Oh god.

_Finis._

**Author's Note:**

> Fiction challenge: "Take your favorite pair, any fandom. (conventions-a-go-go warning) They wake up in each other's  
> bodies (and no, we don't care why). What do they think? Do? Feel? 30 minutes"


End file.
